


Twenty-three

by mcicioni



Category: The Magnificent Seven (1960)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 19:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: What's in a name, especially when you're not as young as you used to be?





	Twenty-three

I am sitting on the front porch, smoking. He’s leaning against one of the posts. He’s been getting thicker around the middle, and sometimes we joke that one of these days the post will collapse, and the house with it.

He gives me his teasing half-grin. “So you had a good day, all things considered?”

_All things considered_. I refrain from listing some of the things that I have been considering today, such as the blasted spectacles I have to wear if I want to read, or this damn cough that won’t leave me alone, day or night. I only got myself to blame, he says. Maybe I’ll quit smoking just to shut him up. One of these days.

No point in bellyaching. Especially when I remember the good morning greeting he gave me (I have eight years on him, and he’s still pretty nimble, with lots of enthusiasm) and the food he cooked for me (almost raw as usual, he’ll never fix anything beyond barely edible, but at least he tries). I smile back. I’ve made it to sixty-four, which in our line of work is damn near a miracle. _Former_ line of work. Now we have a few acres of land, with some horses and some head of cattle, and a house that constantly needs work. And each other. All things considered, life is good. Better than either of us deserved.

“Not bad.” Now I wait to see if he’ll ask the question. He’s already asked me twenty-two times, usually on my birthday. And I’ve given him the same answer. Some day he’ll get the idea. I can only hope.

He takes off his hat, turns it over in his hands, then puts it back on. He always does that when he’s tense. And then it comes. 

“You still sure you don’t wanna know my real name?”

I blow out a puff of smoke, cough a little, and, as usual, answer slowly and patiently, as if he was a foreigner who couldn’t speak much English. “Yes. I’m still sure. I don’t give a hoot what your real name is.”

He opens his mouth to interrupt, but I fend him off. “That first day, I asked you what your name was, and you answered _Make it Vin_. Vin is what you’ve been for twenty-three years. I’d go out of my mind if you suddenly became someone else.”

He laughs. He still looks kind of boyish when he does. Before he can come up with some other convincing argument, I put my cigar out, stand up, pull him away from the post, and shut him up in the best way I know.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Essenszeit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20829443) by [Sindarina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindarina/pseuds/Sindarina)


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